Nature vs nurture, The story of Tom Clarke
by sonea91
Summary: Nature vs. nurture, an old philosophical question. What if Tom Riddle had grown up differently? Would he have still grown up to become that evil called Voldemort? Longer summary inside!
1. Prologue

Title: Nature vs. nurture – The story of Tom Clarke

Summary: Trapped in the Room of Requirement, all hope seems to have left them, when Hermione brings up an old Muggle philiosophical question: Nature vs. nurture? Hypothetically speaking, would things have turned out differently if young Tom Riddle had grown up differently?

What seemed like a mere hypothetical discussion turns into something much more, when it is revealed that Professor McGonagall has been able to hold on to two timeturners…

Rating: T (for now, if anyone, at any point throughout the story feels that the rating is not appropriate, please do tell me, I'm rather bad at judging which category a story should belong in)

Main Characters: Professor McGonagall, Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore

Pairings: you will have to read the story to find out

Disclaimer: I own no rights whatsoever, I write this story purely for personal pleasure. All the rights belong to the wonderful J. – if I were her, the series wouldn't have ended the way it did.

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><p>They were a small group sitting in the Room of Requirement that night. The mood in the room was tense. The excitement and enthusiasm from earlier on had vanished and had been replaced by a feeling of utter defeat and desperation. They were trapped, trapped inside this room and they had no way of knowing how long the room was able to hide them.<p>

Things had seemed to go smoothly earlier on, they had been near ecstatic when Neville had managed to destroy Voldemort's last horcrux. Harry had been more determined than ever before in his young life, it seemed so unfair that when he had finally grown to accept the heavy burden he had struggled with all his life, he had failed.

So many dead, so many fates unknown. They knew they were doomed. They had to go out of the room sooner or later, hiding in there forever was just not an option. There would be an ultimate confrontation and all of them knew there was a slim to non-existent chance that they would succeed.

"I can't believe that bastard won in the end", mumbled Ginny quietly. Her voice was still hoarse from all the crying earlier on, but she had run out of tears a while ago. She hadn't meant for anyone to hear her, but Hermione had.

"I sometimes wonder whether things would have turned out differently if Tom Riddle had grown up differently", Hermione said contemplatively.

"You can't be serious. Voldemort was born evil, there's no shred of good in him", Ron added in.

"I don't think so", Hermione was quick to reply, eager to concentrate on their discussion. Anything was better than the deafening silence that had lasted for the last few hours, no one uttering a single word. Finally there was something she could occupy her mind with, something to distract her from their misery. "There's this old philosophical question: Nature vs. nurture."

"Never heard of that before", George cut in. Everyone was listening intently now, anything to take their minds of their current predicament.

"I actually would have been surprised if you had", Hermione said. "It's a muggle philosophical question, first coined by Francis Galton in the second half of the nineteenth century. There are two sides to the discussion. One is the belief that a person's character is shaped nearly completely by environmental influences, that is their 'nurture'. They call that 'tabula rasa'. In short, it means that no person is ever born with character traits, but that he develops them as a reaction to his circumstances. The other view of course is that a person is born with certain traits. People who believe in that theory often also believe in destiny as the ultimate key to life."

Hermione had switched into her lecturing mode without even realizing. Looking around, however, she noticed that each single person in the room was listening to her with apt attention.

"Of course people are shaped by the things around them", Luna's dreamy voice broke the silence. "For example, if you were surrounded by Hopplers in your early years, you would definitely have a heightened sense of appreciation for solitude."

No one had ever heard Luna mention Hopplers before, but they weren't about to start asking now. Hermione just slightly shook her head, she still thought the girl crazy at times.

"I still refuse to believe that Voldemort was ever anything other than an utter bastard", Ron interjected, and there was a nod of agreement from his sister.

"Well, most psychologists these days would tell you that it's actually neither", Hermione further explained, "but rather a combination of both. There are certain traits and tendencies we are born with, but your environment plays a huge part as well. I personally think, though, that most traits are developed in early years. I don't think there's ultimate good or evil in a person, I think each of us are born with a bit of both. I would say, for someone who has never experienced love himself, who has never been loved by anybody, it would be highly difficult to ever develop feelings for others. There are for instance studies that proof that if you were hit by your parents in your childhood, you are more likely to hit your own children than people who have never had to feel the back of a hand on them in their life."

"So, you're basically saying that if Voldemort didn't have a crappy childhood, he wouldn't have turned out to be the evil bastard that he is?", Ginny asked.

"In a way, yes", Hermione answered tentatively, the mood in the room had once again altered and she was afraid to say something wrong.

"So are we supposed to feel pity for that bastard now? Empathy even? Not bloody likely", Ron cut in angrily. "Well, what a pity that we're not able to go back about 60 bloody years in time to bloody save Voldemort's bloody soul."

"Ron", Hermione tried.

"I mean it, Hermione, how could you ever feel anything even close to empathy for the devil that killed your best friend?"

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing heavily. She shouldn't have brought the topic up, she should have known better. And really, she could understand why Ron was mad at her, she didn't understand herself how she could pity a creature like Voldemort. But there had to have been a time when he was just Tom Riddle, still innocent, not yet involved in anything dark.

"It might very well be our only chance", a tired McGonagall interjected suddenly, as if she just had an important realization. Hermione looked up at her professor worriedly, she had never seen the former so tired, so broken. She was about to ask her professor what she meant, when McGonagall pulled out something from within her cloak and Hermione gasped.

"What are those?", Neville asked, never having seen any before. Hermione was too shocked to say anything, so it was Luna who answered his question. "I believe those are two time-turners. Put it around your neck, spin it once and you should be able to go back an hour. Spin it twice and you're back two hours and so forth."

"Why didn't you mention you had them before, professor", Ginny said excitedly. "Sure, we could go back a few hours and prevent Harry from ever dying, we could…"

"We cannot", McGonagall interrupted the young girl's rambling, sad to have to crush her newfound hope. "Imagine what would happen if you ran into yourself, girl. Imagine you did something which caused your former self to be killed. Then you would have never been able to sit in this room, never been able to go back, so you would have never been killed, so you could have gone, so you would get yourself killed… Do you see where I am going with this, it would be a paradox, and you would have to forever live in that loop, never able to get out of it. Can you imagine living the last few hours over and over again?"

"But there would be no paradox if you went back for 60 years?", Neville asked.

"Well, I would be the only one who could run into herself", McGonagall provided. "And I daresay I wouldn't recognize my future self."

"I would never have suggested this", she further added. "There's so many unknown risks. We could very well destroy everything by meddling with time, but I think this is our last chance."

"But is there any way to manipulate that timeturner to take us back that far? I thought the maximum of hours was 24", Hermione questioned.

"I believe it is indeed possible", the Transfiguration professor told them. "I did a study on timeturners many, many years ago. See, there are no reports of people who ever tried to do anything of the kind. Then again, if someone managed to change time, they wouldn't make it public knowledge, would they? Imagine if anybody who hasn't content with their situation could just take a travel in time."

"So, do you think you can manipulate the timeturners enough?", Hermione asked openly.

"I'm not sure", Professor McGonagall sighed. "But I can at least try. It should be possible, I know that much."

"How do you even still have those?", Ron asked. "I thought they all got destroyed in the battle in the ministry two years ago."

"I had held on to Hermione's here", she pointed at one of them. "The other one is my own. I haven't used it in years, mind you, I originally got it for my research."

"But who of us would willingly go back and try to befriend Tom Riddle?", Ginny changed the topic back to the most pressing matter. "I don't think all of us could go anyway. For one, I don't think the timeturners could take us all, for another, it will be hard enough to come up with a coverstory for just two or three people."

"I think Professor McGonagall needs to go", Luna stated. Everyone looked at her surprised. "Well, I think it wouldn't help much if we were only to change him from his years in Hogwarts onwards. I believe the damage to his soul was done long before that."

"You're right, I think", McGonagall said. "He was in the year beneath me in school, and though he seemed pleasant enough, we cannot forget that he let loose the basilisk in his fifth year. No, I agree, if we want to make an impact on his life, we have to do that earlier on. But what exactly were you thinking of when you said that it'd have to be me to go back?"

"You would have to adopt young Tom Riddle of course", Luna said, as if that was the most logical thing in the world.

To everybody's surprise, it was Neville who first agreed with Luna. "It does sound plausible", he said. "I think you're our best chance, Professor."

"Very well then, Mr. Longbottom. I suppose Miss Lovegood is right." Professor McGonagall sighed. She was so tired of fighting, and yet she felt that she owed it to the people who had died for the cause to keep on trying. She owed it to Albus. "But I don't think it'll be enough. Tom, throughout his Hogwarts years, never had any friends. He had followers, yes, never friends though. So at least one other person would have to go back and try to befriend him."

Silence filled the room. It was a heavy decision indeed. "I think two of us could go back together with the second timeturner", Hermione offered, but didn't really know what else to say.

"What about finances? Paperwork?", George asked.

"Well, for finances, luck is on our side for once. There's a very old vault in Gringotts which belongs to the McGonagall family. For as long as it has existed, its refunds have never been touched. It was specifically set up for emergencies."

"But surely you couldn't live under your real name back then", Ginny said.

"That wouldn't be wise, I agree. However, to prove that you're the legal owner of a vault like that you have to prove your heritage by a blood sample. Goblins are secretive, so nobody would ever find out about it."

"I think I could help with the papers", Percy spoke up for the first time. "I know what they look like, I'm sure I could forge some, if you helped me", he said, questioningly glancing at George.

"Sure", George agreed. "Forging is a specialty of Fr…., mine", he finished. He hadn't had the time to deal with losing his twin yet, but thinking of him then filled him with a new air of determination. "So what else?"

"Do you really think any of us will be able to befriend Tom Riddle, knowing what he grew up to do?", Neville asked quietly. "I don't think I could do it", he added weakly.

"I don't think any of us could", Ginny reassured him.

"Well, I suppose there's only one solution to that problem, then", Hermione piqued up. "Whoever's going has to obliviate himself." She was struggling with her own words, she still remembered all too clearly how she had obliviated her own parents, yet she didn't see any other option.

"So Hermione has to go as well, then", Luna said. Realizing the questioning stares, she added "I don't think anyone but her and Professor McGonagall know how to cast an obliviate."

There was a murmur of agreement. "No", Ron shouted out though. "I couldn't stand losing my second best friend as well. Hermione, you don't have to do this."

Hermione had closed her eyes before, but she was now looking back up, meeting Ron's eyes. "But I have to", she said quietly. "For Harry. It's the only chance we've got left."

Ron was not happy with that reply, but truthfully, there was nothing left for him to say. "So two settled, one more to decide on", Percy noted. "The question is, who of us is most fit to befriend Tom Riddle."

"I'm sorry", Ginny said, "but I don't think I can do it. I – the Chamber of Secrets – I…."

"That's quite understandable", Hermione reassured the girl, pulling her in a hug. Ginny couldn't help it but still feel guilty.

"I'll go", Ron announced.

"Ron, you're wounded, you can't possibly go", Hermione said. It was true, Ron had been hit by quite a few nasty curses, all of them had, really, but he was by far the most severely wounded.

"I'll go with you", Luna declared. "I'm not sure how easy it will be for you to befriend him, there's always been tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor. So there should be at least one person from a different house."

"So, it's settled then", George concluded quietly. Nobody felt all that happy with the outcome, but they knew, it had to be done and they all understood Luna's point.

The next 24 hours were spent in hectic activity. Ron had joined his two brothers in forging all the relevant documentation. It was agreed upon that Professor McGonagall would go back to the year 1928, when young Tom Riddle was merely two years old, so her muggle birth certificate now read 1878. Though that was 23 years less than her biological age, they had to take a date that would look plausible to muggles, seeing that witches and wizards didn't age as fast as them. She also had another magical certificate that had 1855 as her year of birth. Her name had been changed to Cybele Clarke.

Hermione was busy going over all the spells and working out her and Luna's backup story. She didn't really know how to feel about going with the blond witch, she still thought of her as strange. She liked Luna, she was a nice enough girl, yet truthfully, if she could have picked anyone in the room, Luna would have been her last choice. Well, they would make it work somehow.

Luna and herself were going to change their names to Miranda and Haumeah Davies, cousins, who had moved to England from France. This was helped by the fact that both of them knew French quite well.

They also decided which glamours they were going to use, seeing that they were going to attend Hogwarts from fourth and third year, respectively, onwards. Hermione was glad to find that the younger witch was quite capable at glamour charms, so she had no doubts that they would be able to conceal their real age.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, had managed to manipulate the timeturners. She had obviously read a theory about it years ago, but had never dared to try it out, too fearful of the possible consequences if someone were to use that timeturner.

The noises outside the Room of Requirement had grown throughout the last day. Voldemort had obviously realized that at least some of the survivors had managed to flee there. Thus far, the room had protected them, but they knew that they were running out of time.

Eventually, everything was settled, and they were as prepared as possible. Professor McGonagall was the one to go first. For the first time in their lives, they saw their usual stern professor unsettled; she was obviously nervous and there were also slight tears in her eyes.

"I don't know what will happen, but I want to wish you all the best, all of you", she said, before pulling each of her former students into a tight hug.

"Good luck, professor", Neville murmured, as she began spinning the wheel, and within a few seconds she was gone.

"Our turn, I suppose", Hermione said nervously. She and Luna also started saying their goodbyes, and by the time she had reached Ron, she was in sobs. "I don't want you to go", Ron told her.

"But I have to", she said. "For Harry, for Fred, for Remus, for Tonks, for Sirius, for all of them. I have to."

"Take care", Ron said quietly. "I'm not ready to lose another one of my friends."

"I will", she said, giving him one last squeeze before moving over to Luna, putting the timeturner around both of their necks.

Would they ever be able to go back to the future? Would they be able to meddle with time without losing themselves along the way? Would she ever see the beloved faces of her friends?

Hermione did not know but she knew one thing for sure. This was their last chance.

She took one last calming breath, before she started turning the wheel and they started spinning, spinning into an unknown future.

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><p>AN: Please leave me your thoughts, it's always nice to get some feedback. Constructive criticism is also very welcome, if you feel that things were off in this prologue feel free to tell me, it would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Stranded in another time, 1928

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, I hope this chapter won't disappoint.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – Stranded in another time<strong>

Minerva shot one last look at her former students. They were so young and yet had already experienced so much. Maybe, if she succeeded, they would be able to grow up normally, have a normal and peaceful childhood. Maybe they would never have to know what despair and hate were like, or at least not until they were much, much older. This 'maybe' was one of the main reasons she was going back, those children had been deprived of so much, their innocence, their childhood, their happiness; it was just not fair. And yet, two of them would have to go back with her, trying to right the wrongs in the world. Why did people so young have to carry the whole weight of the world on their shoulders?

Minerva herself was old; in fact she had started to feel ancient just recently, the war had taken its toll on her. Except for the worry lines around her faces there weren't any physical signs of this, but she had started to feel so worn out, so broken inside, so helpless, as if life was slipping from her very fingers.

And yet, she thought, at least she had had her full share of life. It was true, she had grown up in a troublesome time herself, but for her it had never been as close to home. She had been on holiday breaks before her third year at Hogwarts when World War II had broken out, but that had mainly concerned the muggle community, as wizards had far better protection. With a pang of sadness she remembered how her 16-year old self had returned home the summer after fifth year to learn that her childhood muggle friend Paul had fallen victim to the German army and was now one of the many, many dead soldiers to mourn for. Still, she hadn't been in contact with Paul since the summer after her second year, so while she was sad, it didn't hurt her as much as if it had been any of her friends from Hogwarts. Paul was the only one she had personally known who had died during that war, and it had been many years later, when she had first started to become more interested in muggle society, that she fully comprehended the magnitude of the dreadful things that had happened during that period of time.

The same could be said for the reign of Grindelwald: While his name was all over wizarding papers he had never attacked Britain and she had been too carefree back then to fully grasp the concept of just exactly what reign of terror this wizard held in other countries. 'Ignorance is bliss' was not just another meaningless saying, but a very apt description of her childhood.

She felt old, too old for this mission, but at the same time she was determined. So many lives had been destroyed, so many innocent souls ripped from this earth. It could hardly get any worse; there was no time for hesitation now.

There was so much uncertainty about the whole plan; they hadn't had any time to really plan it through. She remembered her warning to a young Ms Granger four years ago: "Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time" and that was exactly what they were about to do. They intended to change the entire timeline and that thought frightened Minerva, there was no way of knowing whether that attempt wouldn't throw them into a sort of limbo or something equally as dreadful.

But risks had to be taken, these were desperate times, so desperate measures had to be taken. Nervous but with a calm hand she started to turn the wheel on her timeturner, praying to any gods or higher powers who might be out there that their mission would be a success, it had to be.

After she had counted out the right amount of turns she let go of the wheel and the world around her started to spin until there was nothing but darkness.

A soft groan escaped Minerva's lips as she slowly opened her eyes, adjusting them to the brightness of the room she was currently lying in. She didn't know how long she had been out for, but she must have passed out sometime during her travel. Well, what had she expected, being swirled so far back in time was bound to come with some side-effects, it would have been ironic, really, if it hadn't been more troublesome than a simple walk around the park.

Minerva got up from the floor, still feeling groggy. She groaned when she put weight on her left foot, she had obviously twisted her ankle when she had first fallen in a rather ungracious heap onto the floor. She briefly wondered how she hadn't woken up from the pain; she must have really been knocked out badly. However, she dismissed that train of thought quickly; there were more important things to focus on right now. Like her growing headache. She groaned, she was getting side-tracked again. But she really needed to sit down for a minute and a glass of water wouldn't hurt either.

With a soft pop a sofa appeared right behind her, and next to it a side table with a glass and a jug of water on it. She felt relieved. At least she had ended up in the Room of Requirement after all, so she didn't have to worry about being discovered just yet.

With another soft groan she settled down on the sofa and poured herself a glass of water, gulping it down rather quickly, and a second one after that. When she had drenched her thirst, she found herself longing for a nice, strong cup of black tea, and sure enough the room provided her with one.

She took the cup into her hands, this was just what she needed. Tea had always been her secret weapon against everything, it calmed her down greatly and always made her feel more secure. She had her best ideas while drinking a strong cup, it had become somewhat of a ritual to her.

She didn't take a sip yet, as she knew from experience that the water was still too hot and that she would only burn her tongue. Instead she enjoyed holding the cup in her harm, feeling the warmth spreading.

So where to start? She would have to figure out whether she had ended up in the right time or whether she had stranded in a completely different period. At that thought, a calendar appeared opposite of her, it was the 20th August of 1928. So at least that bit had worked out quite nicely, at this time of the year the castle should be nearly deserted so she should have a fair chance of sneaking out of it undetected, especially since the twins had told her about all the secret passages.

With a jolt she realized that her own third birthday was only a month and a half away. Well, not her own, really, rather her younger self's. Would she see her younger self again? Maybe, her adoptive son and her younger self would be attending the same school after all. But that would be after she had obliviated herself, so she wouldn't recognize her younger self. Then again, she was bound to remember her own childhood, right? She sighed. Another factor they hadn't taken into consideration.

'Her adoptive son', that was right. She should get Vol-, no, Tom as soon as possible. She shuddered at that thought. She definitely had to start thinking of him as Tom, not as his later evil self. Soon enough, she wouldn't know him as anything other than that, though, and while the thought of having to obliviate herself was frightening it was also relieving.

Minerva took a sip from her cup. So where would she have to start? She had to go to Gringotts to claim access to the McGonagall vault and take out as much money as she needed. Then she had to find an apartment for her and Tom to live in. Buy furniture, clothes – that reminded her, she really needed muggle clothing. Merlin, she dearly hoped that the safety vault did prove to be rather resourceful, she would need a lot of money.

So, to Gringotts first. After conjuring a small bandage for her ankle, she got up with a determined air. She could do this. If only her head didn't hurt that badly.

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><p>Two weeks later, Minerva had settled in. It had been rather strenuous to find an apartment on such a short notice, but she had done it. A small two bedroom in suburban London was now rented to a Cybele Clarke. Fortunately, the McGonagall vault had really contained a small fortune and after she had proven her identity by a simple blood test, the goblins had granted her access, assuring her that their customers' names and doings remained secret and that not even the ministry could force them to reveal those. She had enough money to live on for at least five years, though she had promised herself that she would start looking for a job soon.<p>

She looked around her apartment, there was really nothing more she could do for the moment, it was time to get little Tom.

Minerva eyed the building in front of her warily. She had come by it a few times before, but its shabbiness still greatly disturbed her. This was no place for any child to grow up.

She took another breath, trying to calm herself down. This was the moment she had dreaded for the last two weeks. What would happen if she failed? What if she was to become a horrible mother? She took a last calming breath, pushing her fears and doubts away. This was not the time for self-questioning. She would have to appear confident if she was to convince those muggles to leave one of their charges in her care.

With determined strides she walked over to the front door and knocked sharply on the door. She heard some rustling before a young woman who looked to be about twenty opened the door.

"How can I help you, Madam?", the girl asked politely.

"I came to this facility because I want to adopt a child", Minerva announced. "Would it be possibly for me to see the matron in charge?"

The girl's eyes lit up. "Of course, do come in", she beamed at Minerva. "Just this way", she said, gesturing the older woman to follow her. "You know it's really a shame, but so few people ever come here. We do what we can for them, but there's just too many of them, we can't take care of all of them." Minerva tuned out the girl's idle chatter along the way, at least she seemed to be friendly enough.

"Here we are", the girl said. "Just give me a minute to announce you." She knocked on the door.

"Come in", came the sharp reply from a voice within. "What is it Betty?"

The girl had left the door slightly ajar, so Minerva could follow her conversation.

"Beg your pardon, Madam. A lady just arrived, saying that she's planning to adopt one of our charges", Betty sounded very happy at the prospect.

"She came on her own?", the matron asked deprecatively.

"Yes, Madam."

"Very well, Betty. You may bring her in."

"Come on in, Madam", Betty opened the door and ushered her in. "Good luck", she added in a soft tone so that only Minerva could hear her."

The first thing Minerva noted was the bottle of whiskey sitting on the matron's desk. She had to stop herself from frowning at that, surely the matron wouldn't be drinking around the children?

"I am Mrs Cole, the matron of this facility and responsible for all the children", the elderly-woman said, getting up from her chair behind her desk and offering her hand to Minerva.

"Cybele Clarke." Minerva took the offered hand and shook it.

"It is a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Clarke", the matron answered, though she didn't sound like she meant it. "Please take a seat", she added, gesturing to the chair opposite of her desk.

Minerva settled down and waited for the matron to continue. She already disliked Mrs Cole, but she couldn't let that ruin her plans.

"So I hear you want to adopt one of our children, Mrs Clarke", the woman asked, which Minerva confirmed with a nod of her head. "I would very much like to do that. You see, I am unable to have children of my own, so it'd give me great pleasure to offer a home to one of these poor orphans."

Mrs Cole didn't react to the words but rather continued to muster Minerva. "It is Mrs Clarke, isn't it? Am I correct in assuming that you do have a husband? As you probably well know it is our policy that we only let married couples adopt one of our charges."

Minerva hadn't known that. A change of plan was in order, and a quick one at that. "Of course", she assured the matron. "My husband was unfortunately only unable to come. He is rather busy with his work."

"Very well then", Mrs Cole replied, though she didn't seem to be completely convinced by Minerva's acting just yet.

Minerva inwardly cursed. This was proving to be more difficult than she had thought. She would have to tamper with the papers, and also with the matron's memory, nothing she was particularly looking forward to.

"So what age do you want the child to be?", Mrs Cole questioned.

"I thought it'd be best if he was quite young, still. So maybe between one and three years of age?"

"A boy then", Mrs Cole picked up on her wording. "Let's see. There's Thomas, he just turned three two weeks ago. Blond, very scrawny and with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. A lovely boy, very active though. Then we have Edward, he's a year and two months. He's a blonde as well, though he has brown eyes. He is just learning to walk. Then we have another three year old, Robert, he's a very amiable child as well. Brown hair, blue eyes. And last there would be Tom", the matron frowned at the name, which surprised Minerva. Surely Tom was still too young to have already left a strong impression. "He's a very queer one. Never once cried as a child. He doesn't seem to like other children near him either. He's a year and a half. Dark black hair, grey eyes. That's it, those are all boys we currently have in that age range." The matron looked up at Minerva expectantly.

Minerva was slightly enraged. The way the woman had talked about the children, it sounded like she was trying to sell cattle and not talking about children she cared for. She noticed that the matron was still looking at her expectantly. Surely she didn't expect her to decide without ever having seen the children?

"Can I see them?", Minerva requested.

Mrs Cole let out a disgruntled sigh. Obviously she had expected Minerva to just decide on her oh-so-accurate description.

"Very well then", that seemed to be Mrs Cole's favourite sentence. "Follow me."

The matron led her outside into a small garden. "Thomas, Robert, Tom, come over here. Mary could you bring Edward over here."

All the children stared at her with big eyes as they neared here. "This is Mrs Clarke", the matron introduced her, "and she would like to get to know you. Say hello."

"Hello, Mrs Clarke", Thomas was the first to come forward. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Thomas", Minerva kindly replied.

"Hello, Mrs Clarke", Robert and Edward quickly added their own welcome, though they still looked at her somewhat frightened. Minerva smiled at them.

By now Tom was the only one who hadn't said anything yet and Minerva looked at him inquisitively. The black-haired child obviously noticed and walked towards her, offering her his hand. Minerva shook it, surprised.

"I told you, he was rather odd", Mrs Cole told her, not even trying to whisper so that the children wouldn't hear them. "He hasn't spoken a word yet."

"I'll take him", Minerva said at once, before glancing back down at the boy. Out of all of them, he seemed to be the only one who wasn't frightened of her, rather there seemed to be a strange curiosity in his eyes.

"Are you sure?", Mrs Cole asked disbelievingly. "He really…"

"I am sure", Minerva interrupted her, sharper than she had intended to.

"Very well then", the matron replied in a condescending voice. Oh how she was beginning to hate that sentence, but she had to keep her temper in check.

"Come with us, Tom. The rest of you can go back to playing." Minerva sadly realized that the children looked more relieved than anything. She hadn't expected that kind of behaviour. Weren't they supposed to be looking forward to be taken into a family? She shook her head sadly before she started to follow Mrs Cole, only just now realising that Tom had never let go of her hand. She smiled down at the boy. The kind action only seemed to confuse him and caused him to abruptly drop her hand. Minerva sighed, this would probably prove very difficult if the boy was frightened by such small acts of kindness and restrained herself from ruffling the boy's hair, as she was sure that that would only serve to frighten him even more.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, they were finally leaving the orphanage. Minerva had to forge her already forged papers to claim her as married and she had also adjusted her address, she couldn't risk being found. Then she had used another small spell to make sure that the papers would vanish within the hour, seemingly having been misplaced. Fortunately, she had been able to do this without Mrs Cole noticing. However, Tom had obviously noticed that something was off, as he had continued to stare at the hand with her wand, which she had hidden on her left side, out of his view. At that moment she was actually glad that Tom wasn't able to speak yet.<p>

She had been relieved to leave the orphanage, in her opinion it was a dreadful place. And she would be very happy if she never had to see Mrs Cole again, she strongly disliked the woman.

They had taken the tube to her small apartment. Tom had stared around him in wonderment all along their journey, he obviously hadn't been out of the orphanage at all yet. Poor boy, too be caged up like that.

She had explained everything to him, "this is the tube, Tom. We'll use it to get to where you and I will be living." "See that string here? You have to pull it if you want the door to open at the next stop."

They arrived at her apartment at around five in the evening. "Are you hungry, Tom? I'll make us some Spaghetti." She felt slightly ridiculous talking to the boy, knowing that he wouldn't talk back. However, she knew that you were supposed to talk with children as much as possible and the silence otherwise was making her uneasy.

"This is your room, Tom. You can play for now, if you want. I'll fetch you once dinner is ready." With that she left him with the building blocks she had bought for him and went into the kitchen.

When she came back, the first thing she noticed was that he had arranged the blocks in a very weird way. It seemed that he had tried to put them at the weirdest angles. The strangest of it all though as that some of them were standing in angles on another that she didn't think should be physically possible. Then she looked over at Tom, he was sitting at the bed, just blankly staring at the blocks.

"Dinner is ready, Tom", she said in the most cheerful way she could muster. That child really was strange and it was starting to freak her out. After all, this was a young Voldemort she had taken into her care. That thought unsettled her again, and she was just relieved that she would go through the whole process of obliviating herself. She had dreaded that moment before, but know she was desperately longing for it. 'Ignorance is bliss'.

Tom had impeccable table manners, she noticed, which was rather odd for such a young child. They had eaten in silence as Minerva had run out of things to say to him. Tom never looked at her, he just seemed to be staring off into space again.

"Are you full", Minerva asked him. Tom just pushed the plate away from him, which she took as a yes.

"Come on, let's get you ready for bed then", she said, taking his hand and leading him over to his bedroom. She was glad that she had bought him some clothes, as the clothes he had had at the orphanage looked like rags. She had miscalculated his size a bit though, he was rather tall for his age and the pyjamas were a bit short on him. She would have to buy him more clothes soon, she mused.

After she had walked with him to the bathroom and he had brushed his teeth – he had refused her help and simply taking the brush out of her hand – she brought him back to his bed, tugging him in.

"Sleep tight, little Tom", she told him while doing so, but when she looked at his face again she noticed that he looked frightened again. She sighed. He obviously wasn't used to another person in that close proximity.

She got up and walked over to the door. After a last glance at Tom, who had turned around so that he was facing the window instead of her, and a last frown at his strange building of blocks she switched off the light and closed the door.

There she just leaned against the wall for a moment. This had been one strenuous day. Tea, she really needed a strong cup of tea now to calm down her nerves.

Four hours later, Minerva was still sitting in her small living room contemplating the events of the day. Tom seemed to be a rather strange child already. What if he was already evil? What if the evil part was already deeply ingrained in his soul? But he was still so young.

Minerva knew it was time, time to obliviate herself. But weren't the stakes too high? Wasn't she risking too much? What if Tom still turned out to become Voldemort after all? What if Hermione, Luna and her weren't there to support the others in their most desperate time of need? Had her decision doomed the whole world?

Minerva suddenly looked up at the small cupboard across from her, thinking of the item within it. She had bought a pensieve just yesterday, having had the strange feeling that she might need it. What if…?

But no, that was wrong, that was not according to their plan. Well, that plan hadn't been all that specific, had it now? She had already had to adjust it more than once. Surely, it couldn't hurt…

Minerva thought back and forth for a whole while. She really felt uncomfortable just forgetting about all that. She already had to sacrifice so much, surely she could for once be selfish and keep her memories, if not intact, when at least safely stored away so that she could access them, if need be.

She slowly walked over to the cupboard and pulled out the pensieve, putting it on top of the cupboard. She stared at it for a long while.

Then, with a determined air, she took out her wand and pointed at her head, effectively pulling her memories out and into the pensieve. 'Just for safe-keeping', she thought.

After that, she put the pensieve in a corner cupboard, locking it away with several spells. She still felt unsure about it, but what had been done was done. Now to the even more troubling matter.

She slowly pointed the wand at her head again, taking in another calming breath, before a soft 'obliviate' left her lips. She knew that 'obliviate' was one of the few spells that were as strong nonverbal as verbal, but somehow, speaking the word out loud made it seem more real.

And the next moment, she wondered why she was pointing her wand at her head. What had she been doing. Ah, right, she had stored away some important memories earlier on, some she had promised herself not to look at unless she was in a terrible situation. What exactly was 'terrible situation' meant to mean? She didn't remember why she had thought it so important to store away those memories in the first place.

Minerva shook her head. It had been a long day and she probably was just tired. She should get to bed soon.

'Minerva, get a grip on yourself', she firmly told herself. 'Wait, why did I just call myself Minerva? Surely that was my name, but a long long time ago. I have given up everything that comes with that name except for the vault?'

Cybele just shook her head again. She really had to get to bed, she decided, it had been a long and strenuous day for her. If only she knew how strenuous it had really been for her…

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><p>AN: Super-long chapter, I know. As usual, feedback is very greatly appreciated and makes me update faster=)


	3. Stranded in another time, 1943

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews. One of them asked me to clarify the 'plan' a bit, since it wasn't all that clear in the prologue. Well, for one, the whole thing was more or less a spontaneous thing, so everything isn't exactly that well planned out – in fact they didn't take quite a few things into consideration, as you'll see (or have already read in McGonagall's case) in later chapters. So part of me wanted the prologue to be slightly chaotic and confusing, as that's exactly how it is for the protagonists.

As to the timeline, I think some clarification might be needed here. McGonagall went back to the year 1928, when little Tom is only a mere year and a half. Hermione and Luna, on the other hand, went back to the year 1943 and are going to attend Hogwarts in sixth and fifth year respectively. At least in the beginning I will therefore be switching between those two timelines.

If you're still confused about the whole thing, feel free to ask=)

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><p>'They had really gone through with it' was Hermione's last thought as she and Luna were swirling through time. Then the blackness engulfed her.<p>

She woke up to find herself lying on the floor. She slowly got up, slightly disoriented and her hand went to her forehead. "Ouch", Hermione groaned, silently cursing that bothersome headache.

"Oh good, you're finally awake", Luna's cheerful voice brought her out of her stupor. She was sitting in an armchair just opposite of Hermione, animatedly whipping back and forth.

As Hermione was looking for something to sit on, a sofa appeared right behind her. "At least we're still in the Room of Requirement", she mused as she settled down onto it.

"So, where do we start?", the brown-haired witch asked out aloud. "Well, we should try to find out whether we landed in the right time after all. Hmm, I don't know any spell to determine that. But there must be some other way." Hermione looked contemplative.

"A calendar", she suddenly murmured and looked up expectantly at the wall opposite of her. Even while she was still speaking, a calendar manifested itself there. "1st September, 1943", it read.

"Yes", Hermione let out a relieved breath. "We made it, we really made it!" The cheerfulness left her as fast as it had appeared and was instead replaced by a nervous sombreness.

The older witch took out her wand and pointed it at the blonde girl. The nervousness she felt was mirrored in her eyes, but her hand was steady. She altered the younger girl's appearance so that she looked three years younger, before she did the same to herself. The charms were static, meaning that they wouldn't wear off with time and have to be reapplied. At the same time, they weren't irreversible, a fact Hermione was very grateful for.

"I suppose it's time then", she said, anxiously looking at the girl opposite of her, after she had ensured that her charms had worked properly. "Ready when you are", her voice slightly faltered, but it was still determined.

"Time to forget", Luna mused pensively. She glanced off into space for a while before she seemed to refocus. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be", she smiled encouragingly at Hermione.

"Obliviate", Hermione said in a whisper, barely audible. The blonde's face went blank as her memories were wiped out and readjusted.

Even though Hermione knew that this was necessary, she couldn't help it but feel guilty. The way Luna sat there, the blank look on her face, it reminded her of her parents when she had obliviated them. At least this time she was doing it with the respective person's consent. But still…

It took Luna a few seconds to recover after Hermione had ended the spell. Then she brightly smiled at her and said, "I think we should go and see the headmaster now, don't you agree, Miranda?"

"Yes, sure, just one moment." Hermione inwardly cursed. Neither of them had taken into consideration that she wouldn't be able to obliviate herself in front of Luna afterwards. Her sharp mind was quick to find a solution.

"We'll go in a moment, I just really need to go to the loo first."

'That's the best you could come up with, Hermione?', Hermione silently belittled herself. 'Pathetic, really.'

Fortunately, Luna didn't seem to find anything strange about it. At Hermione's words a door had appeared at one wall and the witch quickly walked over there. She was relieved to find that it was indeed a restroom, she hadn't been sure just how much the room could do.

With a last small wave at the younger girl she went inside. She stopped in front of the sinks and mustered herself in the mirror. This was it. Somehow it was hardest to do this to herself.

Hermione stared at her own reflection as she took out her wand and pointed it at herself. 'Obliviate', she once more murmured, while praying that it would be the very last time she would have to use that spell.

"So, I don't think there's any use delaying it any further", Miranda said as she walked back out into the Room of Requirement. "Let's go find the headmaster and hope he'll take us in."

Haumeah got up from the armchair and smiled at her supposedly cousin. She felt slightly confused, not able to remember how they had gotten to the Room of Requirement in the first place, but she somehow knew that it was important for her to be acting well. Miranda was her cousin, they had fled the war in France. Both of their families had been killed, while Miranda and she had managed to escape. They had eventually ended up here in the Room of Requirement, though they weren't too sure how that had happened themselves.

That was the coverstory anyway.

Miranda meanwhile was going through much the same mind process. Her inquisitive mind was prompting her to question what they were just doing, but she just knew that they had a mission to fulfill. A mission that was very important, though she couldn't remember exactly what that mission was supposed to be. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She would have to sort those thoughts out later, at the moment time was running and the sooner they got this over with the better.

"Ready?", she asked, as a strange feeling of déjà-vu overcame her.

"As ready as I'll ever be", Haumeah replied and they walked over to the door. Miranda quickly pulled it open and the two cousins stepped outside.

* * *

><p>It wasn't too long until they met the first student. Luck was with them as they could recognize that it was a Hufflepuff prefect.<p>

"Excuse me", Miranda addressed the boy. "Could you tell us how to get to the Headmaster's office?", she inquired politely.

"Sure", the boy replied. "May I ask what you want to see him for?"

"We want to enroll here, if that's possible", Miranda provided. "We were homeschooled in France, but certain events required us to leave our home and we hoped that Hogwarts will take us in."

The boy looked at them curiously. Something in Miranda's tone, however, caused him not to ask any more questions. "We've never had any transfer students before", he said.

They walked on in silence for a while. "I'm Peter Francis, by the way", he offered after a while.

"Miranda Davies", Miranda smiled at him.

"Haumeah Davies", Haumeah spoke up for the first time.

"What an odd name, Haumeah", Peter mused. When the blonde girl didn't provide any explanation, he turned back to the more talkative of the two.

"So you're sisters then", he said.

"Cousins, actually", Miranda replied. She didn't add anything else and Peter realised that neither of the girls was very keen on providing any more information, so he just walked on in silence.

"Here we are", he eventually said, as he stopped in front of a stone gargoyle. "The password is phoenix." The gargoyle moved aside to reveal a spiral staircase. "Just go on up there," he told the two girls. "Good luck", he added as an afterthought.

"Thanks", Miranda replied as she and her cousin stepped onto the staircase which began to move and disappear from sight.

'Odd ones, those two, how did they even get here, I thought Hogwarts was unplottable', Peter thought before he went off to discuss the whole thing with his friends.

Miranda threw one last – what she hoped to be encouraging – smile at Haumeah before she sharply knocked on the door. There was no audible answer, instead the door simply swung open.

Miranda was feeling extremely nervous, she knew that this was probably the key moment of their 'mission', to persuade the headmaster to let them enter Hogwarts. She didn't try to act nonchalant for once, she knew that she would have to appear distressed in front of the headmaster.

Without a backward glance she hesitantly stepped into the room, only to find four inquiring eyes on her. She swallowed as she recognized the familiar twinkle in the eyes of the man standing closest to her, who was currently eyeing her and Haumeah curiously.

Her eyes wandered on to the other man, who was nearly obscured from view by the large desk he was sitting behind. "Headmaster Dippet?", she addressed him in a small questioning voice.

"How can I help you, Miss…", Dippet trailed off.

"Davies, Sir", she finished his unspoken question. "Miranda Davies."

"And what's your name, dear", Dippet asked the blonde girl beside her.

"Haumeah Davies, Sir", the girl provided.

"Sisters, I take it?"

"Cousins", Miranda corrected him.

"Very well, Miss Davies", Dippet said. "So, to repeat my earlier question: How can I help you?"

"We want to enroll at Hogwarts, Sir."

"Enroll here", the headmaster repeated disbelievingly, removing the large glasses from his eyes and staring at them. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm nearly 16 and Haumeah is 14. We thought we might be able to enter sixth year and fifth year respectively."

"You have it all planned out, haven't you", replied Dippet. "I'm sorry to have to say this but that is quite impossible." With that he put his overly-large glasses back on, which somehow shielded him from view.

Miranda was frustrated by his decided answer, he hadn't even asked any questions, how could he just dismiss them so easily. Even though she herself had often preached her friends not to judge people's character on a first impression, she found that she already felt a strong dislike towards the man.

She, however, didn't plan to give up so easily. "Could you not please reconsider, Sir?", she asked him pleadingly.

Dippet looked annoyed, as if they were nothing more than a nuisance to him. Shouldn't someone who was headmaster of a school have more patience with children and be more eager to help?

The headmaster heaved a sigh. "For one, Miss Danes", Miranda noted slightly enraged that he couldn't even remember their name, "you're missing out on years of Hogwarts' education, you will be completely lost with the school's curriculum."

"So you're saying if someone's parents were to move here from France or any other country, they would have to forsake their education?" It was Miranda's turn to stare at the headmaster disbelievingly.

"Well, no", Dippet replied, clearly uncomfortable. "I suppose if they had a respectable report and recommendation from their former school, they could be accepted." He looked at her expectantly.

"We are from France, but Haumeah and I were homeschooled, Sir", Miranda replied meekly. "But we're both very diligent workers, we'll do our best to catch up", she was quick to ensure.

"Homeschooled, you say? So how am I to know the state of your knowledge? It may be disastrous for all I know." Miranda stared at him desperately. "Where are your parents anyway? Shouldn't they be with you?"

It was Haumeah that answered, the first time that her soft voice broke in. "They're dead. All of them. They, they were killed by Grindelwald's followers." Despair radiated off the younger girl who sounded very broken, and Miranda had to blink away the tears that clouded her eyes. She recalled the events that there were so firmly planted in her mind, of people dying, people she had loved and who had been close to her.

"While I am sorry for your loss", it sounded like a mere formality from Dippet's lips, not like he really meant it, "that still doesn't change the fact that I cannot ignore your lack of knowledge. I am very sorry, but there is no way I can accept you as students at Hogwarts."

"But", Hermione tried, trailing off as she didn't know what more to add. Her tears had intensified as her despair at the headmaster's unwillingness to even properly hear them out intermingled with the sadness of the losses she had to suffer.

"I think there might be another solution to this, Armando", Dumbledore spoke up for the first time. Up to then he had not said a word, only eyeing Miranda and Haumeah investigatively.

Miranda hopefully looked at the teacher that had been her headmaster once, or was to become. While she had not always approved of his methods, she had still liked the wizard greatly, not least for his passion when it came to his students. Though she could not exactly remember what methods those were. She pushed the thought aside, adding it to the quickly-growing list of things she would have to analyse later.

"I could test them on their knowledge on the subjects they want to take, making sure they are capable of following the lessons they are to attend."

"But what about the tuition fee for the school? I can hardly see them being able to afford it." Dippet's voice sounded as cold as ever.

"Part of the function of the school's funds is to provide scholarships for talented witches and wizards who cannot afford the school's education otherwise. Besides, think about the bad publicity if word got out that we rejected to help two girls in need."

The latter argument seemed to hold some weight with Dippet. He pondered for a minute, before he grudgingly replied: "Very well, then. You might sort them out. And take the Sorting Hat with you."

Miranda openly gaped at the headmaster's blunt dismissal and how he had just delegated his duties on the teacher, apparently very eager to get rid of them all.

Professor Dumbledore however seemed to be unperturbed. "I will", he said with a nod at the headmaster. "If you would follow me, girls", he addressed the girls before heading in the direction of the door.

The fact that Dumbledore appeared so unsettled proved to Miranda that Dippet was not just having a bad day, but was actually behaving his usual self. She still couldn't understand how anyone could possibly leave such an incapable man in charge of a school.

Haumeah recovered first from the blunt dismissal, murmuring a quiet "thank you, Sir", at the headmaster before she turned and followed Dumbledore. Miranda followed suit and was soon heading down the spiral staircase while still contemplating what had just happened in that office.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore led them on to his quarters without as much as a word. As the girls entered behind him, they found themselves in a small untidy office.<p>

"Sit down", Dumbledore gestured to the chairs opposite of his desk, as he sat down on the armchair behind it. "Lemon drop?", he offered. Both girls shook their heads no.

Dumbledore just smiled before popping one in himself. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I will be your Transfiguration Professor if you choose to take that subject", he introduced himself before mustering them for another few seconds. "Now, why don't you tell me why you lied?"

"Lied?", Miranda asked meekly, startled by his abrupt change of demeanour. He still looked at them calmly but the usual twinkle in his eyes was gone.

"I think we all know what I'm talking about. You lied about your family backgrounds, your education, pretty much anything you told us up there. And then there's also the question of how you got to a castle that is unplottable" Dumbledore stared at them questioningly.

"How..?"

"Oh, I'm quite a skilled Legilimens", Dumbledore answered Miranda's unfinished question. At their frightened looks, he added. "I did not read your minds, if that's what has you so afraid. But in order to become a Legilimens you have to be more perceptive, and one of them is that you can usually tell whether a person is lying or not. Now if you were so kind to provide me with an explanation about your behavior."

"We can't", Miranda answered him in a desperate voice, hoping that he would believe her.

"Why is it that it is always you that is answering while your – cousin" - he paused long enough before the word to show them that he didn't believe them to truly be related - "here remains to be awfully quiet."

"I prefer to leave the talking to others, Sir", Haumeah replied.

"Indeed."

"But what Miranda said is true, Sir. We really cannot tell you", the blonde girl affirmed. "But you already knew that, didn't you? Or you would have revealed our lies in front of the headmaster."

Dumbledore took his time answering. "While I know that you lied and do not understand your reasons, I hold the conviction that you had good ones. I do not doubt that you had to face many terrible things in your past, the evidence of that is written all over you", he looked at them pensively for a moment.

"For now I will accept your wish for your reasons to remain secret. I want you to know that I will be watching you though, and if I have grounds to believe that your goals here are not as pure as you want them to believe, I will confront you again."

He looked at them harshly for a second, before his eyes softened. " Know also that my door is always open if you decide that you want to talk about it after all."

"Thank you, Professor", both girls said in unison, relieved that he wasn't going to question them any further – for now.

"Now, I suppose some testing of your skills is in order", he announced, the usual twinkle returning to his eye. "If you would be so kind as to transform this marble", he pointed at a blue marble that was lying on his desk among other odd things, "into a quill, Miss Davies", he said, looking at Miranda.

The brown-haired witch took the marble into her left hand as she pulled out her wand from underneath her cloak with the other. A look of concentration appeared on her face as a soft but firm "scribblifors" left her mouth. In her hand she now held a perfect quill which she handed over to Dumbledore for inspection. "Impressive", the professor acknowledged as he turned it in his hand. "I have been in need for a new quill, this one will do quite nicely", he said, as he placed it back on his desk.

"Now, Miss Davies the younger, if you be so good as to transform this needle into a roll of parchment for me."

Haumeah had no more problems to fulfill his request as Miranda had before her. Dumbledore went on to give them both different tasks in other subjects as well and seemed to be quite content with their results.

"It seems that both of you are very capable witches. Now, why don't we arrange your timetables."

It eventually was settled that Haumeah would take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Astronomy, Care of Magicial Creatures and Divination. Miranda's subjects were nearly the same, only differing in that she would not be taking Divination but Arithmancy and Ancient Runes instead.

"Jolly good", Dumbledore said. "Now, as to extra-curricular lessons, would you like to participate in any of those? We offer foreign languages – French, German and Italian, Spell Inventing, ancient studies, music – some students have even formed their own band, Art and Household Spells. You can take up to two of those subjects, if you wish. You are of course not required to take any, if you don't want to, though we strongly encourage every student to take at least one. The lessons are held in the evening, once a week."

While Miranda was still pondering the different courses, Haumeah had already decided. "I would like to take Spell Inventing and German", she announced.

"German?", Miranda looked at her perplexed. "But that's such a harsh language."

"I think it sounds rather nice", Haumeah replied, looking as dreamingly as ever. Miranda looked at her disbelievingly for another second, before she dismissed it as another of her friend's odd quirks.

Another few minutes passed before she spoke up again. "I'd like to take Spell Inventing as well, and Household Charms."

"So that's all settled then", Dumbledore beamed at them, before he waved his wand in the air, conjuring their respective timetables and softly dropping them in their laps.

"That should be everything then," Dumbledore smiled brightly before his eyes fell on the Sorting Hat which he had brought with him. "Oh, I nearly forgot, we have to get you sorted of course. I trust you are familiar with our house system?"

As both girls nodded at him, he continued, "The younger Miss Davies shall go first, I think", he said, leaning over his desk to place the worn hat on her head. "May I?"

_You have a very complex mind, it seems, Miss Davies - but that' s not really your name now, is it? Some things seem to be obscured here and there, I cannot get a clear picture of you. However, I can see great courage in you, you would fit well into Gryffindor House. You have a sharp mind as well, my child, Ravenclaw is definitely another option. In fact I think you will fit in better there, few in Gryffindor would be able to understand a mind like yours. No, I think I have quite decided - RAVENCLAW._

Haumeah put the hat of her head as it had announced the last word loudly and offered it to her cousin, which put it on her head in turn.

_Another Miss Davies, it seems, with a mind just as obscure as her cousin's. You are very intelligent as well, but I think in your case, your courage is even greater. There is also some cunning in there, which would work well for the house of Slytherin, but I don't think you would fit in well there. – GRYFFINDOR_

Miranda took of the head, handing it back over to her professor.

"There's still some time after dinner, so I suppose it'll be best for you to get to know your house a bit more before then", Dumbledore mused. "In fact, I shall call the head girl and head boy to take you to your respective houses and dorms. How very convenient that they are placed in your two houses."

"Helga", at his words a small house elf appeared in the room. "Could you please be so kind and tell Miss McGonagall and Mr. Smith to come to my office?"

The elf nodded in acknowledgment before she popped away again, leaving behind two young women who were anxiously waiting to have some time alone to figure out what the exact reason was why they were there and a smiling professor, who was eager to unravel the mystery behind said girls' presence.

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><p>AN: Next chapter we'll be back with McGonagall and a young Tom Riddle. See you there=)


	4. Familiarizing, 1928

N/A: At the end of the day, excuses remain just that, so I won't bore you with them. Sorry for the delay, though and a huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed and stayed with the story despite the long wait=)

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 – Familiarizing, 1928<strong>

Despite the rather eventful day, Cybele got up early the next morning. She'd always been a routine sort of person, there hadn't been one day in the last 20-or-so years that she hadn't gotten up at six o'clock. She never understood the appeal of sleeping in anyway, for her a good day started with getting a headstart on whatever she had to do, favourably accompanied by a strong cup of tea.

At the moment, however, there was not all that much to do for her. She had no job as of yet, having decided that she wanted to get to know her adopted charge first.

Little Tom. She smiled when she thought of him, then frowned. After all, it had been her heartfelt wish to adopt a small child, so why was the only thing she felt when she thought about him uncomfortableness?

Cybele eyed the cup of tea in her hand suspiciously, then shook her head at her own foolishness. What was wrong with her today? Everything in her head seemed to be in a state of disarray.

Taking another sip to clear her thoughts she decided to rather concentrate on her plans for the day. She was planning on taking Tom out to a nearby playground, getting him to associate with other children. And then, she mainly wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, giving them both time to get used to the other.

Deciding that there was not much to do for her just yet, she picked up a book from the nearby shelf, one she had only purchased a few days ago. It was a muggle book, "A tale of two cities" by Charles Dickens. She had once heard that it was one of those classic books you just had to have read at some stage in your life. Unfortunately, up until now she had never gotten around to it.

Cybele looked at the clock opposite her. Half past six, so there was still a good amount of time left before she would have to wake up Tom.

Turning back to the book, she quickly became engrossed in the novel, captivated by the moving story. Her cup was magically refilled a few times and she had turned many a page, before she glanced at the clock opposite of her for the next time. Startled, she realized that it was already half past nine, more than time to wake her little charge.

With one last longing look, she placed the book back on the shelf and walked over to Tom's room. There she hesitated. Was she supposed to knock or to just walk in?

At last she decided that a child of one-and-a-half years could have hardly developed a sense of privacy yet and she slowly opened the door. Stepping into the room, she came to an abrupt halt and blinked surprised - once, twice, thrice.

The scene that greeted her was far from what she had expected. Instead of finding him still asleep, little Tom was wide awake, sitting on top of his bed, already dressed in some of the clothes she had gotten for him, although the shirt was turned on the wrong side. A quick glance to her left revealed the bottom drawer to be opened. Other than the shirt though, everything seemed in impeccable order.

Cybele quickly went over to the drawer, closing it to give herself something to do. The building blocks, which she had put away the day before when she had put Tom to sleep, were back on the floor, once again arranged in the strangest possible (or impossible, she thought) angles.

Tom's gaze, which had been focused on the blocks when she first walked in, had now turned to her. He was looking at her with an expression she was not able to read, she was only certain that it was one not usually found on such a young child's face. She had the impression that he was somehow testing her, but she quickly dismissed that notion, that was simply absurd.

"Here, let me help you with that", she said, walking over to him.

He looked at her inquiringly for a second before he obediently put up his arms for her to pull the jumper over his head. So he did know that he had his jumper on the wrong way around? Tom was just puzzling her more and more.

"Are you hungry?" Cybele asked.

In lieu of a response – not that she had expected any - Tom simply got up and walked over to the door, glancing questioningly back at her when she didn't immediately follow. Cybele shook her head, oh boy, what had she gotten herself into?

After they had had breakfast, Cybele was at a loss as to what to do with little Tom. How exactly did you occupy boys that age?

"Do you want to draw?", she finally asked him, taking out a children's colouring book she had gotten a few days ago.

As per usual, there was no answer, but since he didn't show any outward sign of being disinclined to drawing she handed the book to him, along with a set of coloured pencils.

"Here you go, dear", she said, patting him on the head but moving away quickly as he shied away from the contact.

She gave him one last careful look before she turned around to the sink and started to clean up the remains of their breakfast, all the way chatting cheerfully and every once in a while throwing a glance across her shoulder to reassure herself that he was still there.

"So I was thinking we could go to a playground later on. Would you like that?" She once more glanced over her shoulder, smiling when she saw that Tom had started to intently examine the pencils.

Even though she had the distinct feeling that he was not listening to her at all, too engrossed in his own work, she kept on chatting amiably anyway.

Soon the sound of her voice was accompanied by the scratching of pencils on paper.

Once Cybele was done cleaning, she took out the newspapers she hadn't gotten around to reading that morning. Truth be told, she was not much of a newspaper person and read it more out of a sense of obligation to know what was going on in the world, they were far too big to be handled properly and they only told the truth half of the time anyways.

Wait – were had she gotten that last notion from? Some newspapers tended to exaggerate, but she knew to avoid those kinds of gossip rags.

Cybele shook her head. She had the growing suspicion that she was getting sick; there was no other way to explain her strange thoughts lately.

Taking the muggle newspaper first, she quickly scanned the front for any important news. There was a large picture of a woman called Amelia Earhart, who was obviously the first woman to have ever crossed the Atlantic ocean. Cybele didn't understand what the fuss was about, the woman hadn't even piloted the aircraft, but had merely been a passenger. Cybele scoffed, what a great accomplishment indeed.

She went on to read the rest of the news, only occasionally glancing over at her little boy, who seemed to be still happily occupied.

When she had finished the muggle newspaper, she folded it up neatly and reached for the wizarding one instead. She smiled. Even though the pictures on "the Daily Prophet" were as black as the ones on the British Times, the people in them were moving.

Wait – wherever did she get the notion from that pictures would be anything but black? Cybele shook her head once again, this was definitely not her day and she had the feeling she was developing a headache.

Suddenly she realised that the scraping of pencil against paper had stopped. Looking over at Tom, she noticed that the little boy was intently looking at the newspaper in her hand, staring at the moving picture.

Of course, Tom had probably never seen anything like it before.

"Do you want to have a look at the newspaper with me?", she asked him kindly.

She had not expected any sort of response, so she was pleasantly surprised when he nodded his head vigorously.

"Well, let's get you over here then", she smiled, putting the newspaper down to help him out of his chair and leading him over to her chair.

There she sat back down again, pulling Tom on her lap. However, Tom did not to like the new sitting arrangements, as he started to squirm, trying to get back down.

Cybele sighed. She didn't understand how someone so young could be frightened even by the smallest of physical contact.

"Alright, dear", she said, putting him back down. "I'll get you your own chair if that makes you more comfortable."

Tom just looked at her imploringly, as if telling her what she was waiting for. Cybele shook her head again, she was definitely interpreting too much into the actions of a one-and-a-half-year old.

After she had fetched Tom's chair and put it beside her own, she helped him back into his chair.

"Alright, let's get started then, shall we? I suppose you have never seen anything like this, have you?"

She smiled down at the boy who was looking at the newspaper utterly fascinated.

"See this man, Tom? That's our current Minster of Magic, Albert Traynor. He looks very stern on that picture, doesn't he? Well, I suppose his job is not exactly the easiest one, he has to take care of the whole wizarding world in Britain, keeping our existence secret from the non-magical folks."

They went on like that for an hour, her explaining every picture to him, who the people in them were, what they did, etc. and him looking on completely fascinated.

Eventually the last page was turned and while Tom still looked fascinated, the newspaper seemed to have lost some of his original appeal, as he started to climb down from his chair as soon as she was finished explaining the last chapter to him.

"Careful there", she admonished, preventing him from falling in his eagerness to get down. Tom, however, quickly freed himself of her hand and walked over to his room.

She followed him, but was quickly put at rest when she saw that he had sat down in front of the building blocks once again, obviously intent on playing with them.

"I'll be in the kitchen, if you need me", she told him, leaving him to his blocks for the while.

Back in the kitchen she went to put away the drawing material. She stopped, however, when she caught sight of what he had been drawing. It was not the quality of his drawing that stood out, no, in that respect it was just as messy at that of any little child. What made her pause, however, was the choice of the colours he had used. He had only used three different once, black, grey and a dark green, giving the picture – if you could call it that – a gloomy look.

Cybele sighed. What did his choice of colours say about him? Well, obviously that he liked the colours black, grey and green, nothing to worry about, really.

She used a magnet to pin the drawing to the fridge and put away the pencils, while putting on the kettle for another cup of tea. She felt overwhelmed at the moment and only hoped that it would get used to it quickly.

After lunch and a short nap for Tom – though she had a nagging suspicion that he had not slept at all – she got him ready to go outside.

They quickly arrived at the nearby playground and Cybele led Tom over to the sandpit, having brought some forms and other stuff with her for him to play with.

She shortly introduced herself to the parents of a little boy and a little girl playing there, before sitting down on a nearby bench and pulling out her copy of "A tale of two cities" which she had brought with her.

While she read, she would occasionally glance over at Tom. He seemed to be very concentrated at work, and while he seemed to get on with the girl well enough – which meant that they didn't really interact but the girl was playing in a different corner – he and the other boy seemed to be competing with the other boy for both space and who was able to build nicer things.

The other boy, who looked like he was about three years old, had just successfully put a nice form of a seashell on the edge of the sandpit and smiled at Tom triumphantly.

Suddenly, the older boy tumbled over for apparently no reason, hitting his head painfully on the edge and destroying the seashell in the process. The boy screamed before he started to cry earnestly, causing his very worried-looking mother to rush over to him at once.

Cybele closed her book as well, walking over to the sandpit, where the other mother was comforting and smothering her son. Upon Cybele's arrival, the woman looked up sharply.

"Take away your son. Do you see what he's done?"

"Done? He has not done anything", Cybele was getting angry at the woman. Had she not been watching them keenly? There had been no contact between the boys at all when the elder one had toppled over.

"Really, Mary", the father of the little girl intervened. "I was sitting here the whole time and I can tell you, that boy didn't go anywhere near your son. And besides, don't you think it would take a little more than such a scrawny boy to push over your little Marcus."

The woman, however, was not to be consoled, as she kept on muttering under her breath "irresponsible", "really", "how dare he", "bad education".

Cybele wasn't willing to take it any longer. "We're leaving", she told Tom, picking up his toys. Surprisingly, Tom took her hand and led her lead him away from the sandpit. She didn't look back to catch either the apologetic glance of the young girl's father nor the angry look of the older boy's mother.

Once they were out of sight, she stopped and with a quick swish of her wand, the toys were reduced in size so that they easily fit into her pocket.

"Might as well get you some new clothes today", Cybele declared, heading towards the nearest tube station, keeping little Tom in front of her as to not lose him. To her disappointment, he had dropped her hand as soon as they had gotten out of sight of the playground.

An hour later, they had gotten Tom quite a few new outfits, along with some other toys. The little boy in his own right looked fatigued, and though she had magically enhanced the buggy she had brought with her and asked him to sit down in it, he had just climbed back out of the thing, as soon as she had let go of him, preferring to unsteadily walk on his own feet.

Even though she knew that she shouldn't have given in that easily, she shrunk the buggy back, not willing to prolong the argument.

Spotting an ice-cream parlour a few yards down the road, she decided that a short break was in order.

"Do you want some ice-cream", she asked him. Tom nodded eagerly.

Walking over to the parlour, she pointed at the different sorts. "Which do you want?", she asked him, while trying to figure out which sort he might liked. She was surprised when he at once pointed to the chocolate ice-cream, that had been easy.

"One scoop of chocolate, please", she ordered.

"Don't you think he's a bit young for ice-cream?", the waitress asked when Cybele went to pass the cone on to Tom. Cybele, frowned, she hadn't even considered that.

Tom, obviously sensing her indecision, grabbed for the ice-cream cone.

"I'm sure a little ice-cream won't hurt him", Cybele said, handing the money to the clearly disapproving looking waitress.

Tom, meanwhile, clearly enjoyed his ice-cream, but his eyes hadn't left the waitress yet. The latter had just taken the pound Cybele had handed her to put it into the cash box, when the coin slipped out of her hand and landed in the strawberry ice-cream.

"Crap", she murmured.

Meanwhile, Tom had grabbed on to hold Cybele's hand and – with a somewhat smug expression – turned around as if to signal to her that he was ready to leave.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventful. Cybele had eventually convinced – well, more like forced – Tom to take a seat in the buggy and they had gotten home without any further delay.

After dinner and putting Tom to bed, Cybele dropped on the couch in the sitting-room, fatigued. She knew one thing, she had definitely underestimated the strains of being a mother.

And while she wanted nothing more when sleep and had felt overwhelmed quite a few times that day, she at least felt like she had made some sort of improvement. At least, Tom had taken her hand willingly twice. And even if he had squirmed away from her goodnight kiss, she was sure she would get him used to that as well. She only needed time and patience, she was sure of that.


	5. Foreigners in a familiar place, 1943

N/A: Guess what, I'm on holidays=) Beside the super mood that's put me in, I also have much more spare time to write, and I've missed writing quite a lot. So I do anticipate that I'll be able to update at least a few times during the next few weeks;)

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><p><strong>Chapter 4 – Foreigners in a familiar place, 1943<strong>

They had been sitting in silence for the past ten minutes, Dumbledore unobtrusively mustering the girls from behind his half-moon spectacles. He needn't have bothered to hide his watching them though, as the two young witches were quite lost to their own thoughts.

There was a knock on the door. With a swish of Dumbledore's wand it swung open and revealed two students, who looked to be Six or Seventh Years.

The boy was of average build, but quite tall, standing at at least six feet and two inches. He had short, dark black hair and warm blue eyes which were currently curiously taking in the two foreign girls before him, but not in and unfriendly way.

The girl had long black curly hair, which was put up in a tight bun at the back of her head. She was quite thin and rather tall for a girl. Her eyes were a piercing brown and she had a stern look about her.

"Do come in", Dumbledore ushered them in before he cheerfully clapped his hands. "Now, Misses Davies, let me introduce you to our head girl, Miss Minerva McGonagall, a hearty Gryffidnor, and our head boy, Mr. Edward Smith, a formidable Ravenclaw."

With that he turned around to address the heads. "These are Miss Haumeah Davies and her cousin Miss Miranda Davies. They have come from France to attend fifth and sixth year respectively and were just sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. I'd kindly ask you to take them under your wing for the day, show them to the common room and introduce them to some students in their years."

"Of course, Sir", Minerva answered, before she curtly smiled at the girls. Miranda wasn't too sure what to make of her just yet, she seemed to be a rather serious character.

"So who of you is who?", Edward asked.

"Haumeah", "Miranda", they replied respectively and shook the proffered hands.

"Are they going to be introduced to the whole school tomorrow at breakfast?", Minerva asked the Transfiguration Professor.

"I don't know for sure, but I don't think Headmaster Dippet has planned anything of the sort."

Minerva nodded. Her expression didn't betray anything but indifference, while Edward's eyes were shining with treacherous amusement, and so were Dumbledore's.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep tight and may you find Hogwarts as much of a home to you as many other students have before you", he announced in a way of dismissal, still smiling kindly at his two new protégées.

They were on their way over to the door, when Miranda turned around to face the teacher a last time.

"Thank you, Sir", she said. "For everything."

Dumbledore just inclined his head in acknowledgement, and moments later, the four students were out of his office, with the door softly clicking shut behind them.

"This way", Edward motioned to them and, taking the lead, guided them down a narrow corridor which was all too familiar to the two Davies. Miranda quickly fell in step next to him, with Haumeah and Minerva walking behind them.

"So, I suppose you must have attended Beauxbatons then, non?", Edward surmised.

"Actually, no", Miranda smiled at the amiable headboy. "We were homeschooled."

"Homeschooled, hm? I couldn't imagine what that would be like, I mean I love my family and all, but being taught by your own parents? And then I would have missed all this here", he made a gesturing motion around him.

"Oh, it wasn't bad, really. And it wasn't only our parents teaching us, but also some aunts and uncles. And then we always had one another", Miranda replied.

"I guess," Edward trailed off. "I still just can't imagine it." They were all silent for a while.

"So what caused you to come to a boarding school after all? And in another country, no less?", Edward inquired curiously.

"Just, circumstances", Miranda said, at a loss what to say. "We just couldn't stay there anymore."

Edward looked intrigued, but neither he nor Minerva asked any further questions on the topic, for which the two Davies were grateful.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, followed by a muffled cry. Rounding the corner, they were met by a strange sight, and Miranda had to do her best not to laugh out loud. There on the floor presumably a student was lying, with a suit of armour toppled over on top of him.

"Hagrid, are you alright", the headgirl worriedly inquired, kneeling down next to the boy. With a swish of her wand the suit of armour was back in its rightful place and she was mustering the boy critically, obviously searching for any sights that he was hurt.

After reassuring herself that he was completely unharmed, Minerva got back to her feet. "Now, really, Hagrid", she started. "How often have I told you to be more careful when wandering in the halls."

A bright blush was covering the boy's cheeks as he was clumsily getting back to his feet. With a start, Miranda realized that he was at least three heads taller than the headgirl, a fact that she hadn't noticed before.

Miranda turned to the side, coughing, trying to cover the laugh that was threatening to leave her lips. But it was just too funny a sight: The headgirl giving out to the boy who was towering over her, but who looked ashamed and thoroughly intimated nevertheless.

"Do try to be more careful, Hagrid", the headboy interrupted Minerva's rant, echoing her statement, but his eyes were twinkling with mirth. "Now off you go, before you can possibly cause any more damage."

Hagrid muttered a quick apology, before hastily taking a departure, nearly stumbling against the suit of armour again in his eagerness to get away.

"Edward", the headgirl admonished. "You shouldn't have let him off that easily. You know his tendency to throw over things, remember when he…"

"Oh, don't be like that, Mimi", the headboy was quick to interrupt. "You know he doesn't do it on purpose, he can't help being clumsy."

Minerva looked about ready to object, when she met Edward's eyes and they seemed to have a quick conversation with their eyes, his eyebrow rising ever so slightly, an amused expression never leaving his face. The edge of Minerva's mouth quirked, but she was quick to hide it. Nevertheless, it made Miranda wonder whether there wasn't more to the stern headgirl than she had originally anticipated.

"So, this is where we separate", they had come to a halt at a crossway. "The Ravenclaw common room is that way, and the Gryffindor the other," Edward explained. "We'll see you at dinner."

He shot a last encouraging smile at Miranda before he turned to Haumeah, motioning for her to follow him down the left corridor. The air was soon filled with Edward's chatter and Haumeah's soft, melodious replies.

Meanwhile the two other girls were quietly mustering each other. "This way", Minerva finally motioned for the other witch to follow her.

"So, do your friends call you Minerva or Mimi?" Miranda tried to break the ice, when they had walked in complete silence for a while.

"Minerva. No one but Edward calls me Mimi."

'Well, more like no one else is allowed to call you that or dares to', Miranda thought to herself, realising a second too late that she had voiced her thoughts out loud. Her right hand went to her mouth, as if trying to belatedly shut in the words that had already left her lips. Anxiously she glanced up at the headgirl, worried how she had taken it.

To her utter surprise, Minerva was smiling, the first real open smile she had seen on the other girl's face. "That's another way of putting it, I suppose", she admitted. "Edward's been my friend ever since first year, and for one reason or another, I can never really be mad at him, not for long anyway, no matter what stupid nicknames he comes up with or what else he does to annoy me. And he knows that too well and exploits it every chance he gets. To him, I've been Mimi ever since the end of first year, and he hasn't called me by my full name since. By now, I don't even get annoyed by it anymore, I guess I just got used to it."

The open expression that had been on the headgirl's expression while she had talked suddenly disappeared, as if she belatedly realised that she had told the other girl more than she had ever planned on.

Miranda, however, never noticed this, as she was deep in her thoughts. "I had a friend like that, once", she said, only adding the 'I think' in her head. 'Harry, that had been his name, right? And they had been friends from first year onwards, too.'

The harder Miranda tried to remember her friend the fuzzier her thoughts seemed to be getting, until she felt like she was getting a massive headache. There were just so many thoughts in her head that didn't fit together, she knew Haumeah and she had come from the future, for one reason or another. And then they had felt it necessary to modify their memories, for another obscure reason. If only she had some time on her own, to sort through her thoughts, this was all just so confusing.

"So, what is your favourite class", Minerva's words broke her back out of her reverie. She blinked disoriented for a second, her favourite class, right.

"Charms", she answered after a short pause, and she hoped that the insecurity she was feeling at her answer didn't reflect in her tone of voice. Why couldn't she even remember her favourite subject for certain?

Miranda forcefully pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. She would dwell on them later, now was not the time for that.

"Which is yours?", she asked the headgirl in reply.

"Transfiguration." The answer came quickly, without any hesitation and with a certainty that Miranda longed to be feeling at the moment as well.

"Why Transfiguration", she asked the older girl curiously.

"It's just, Transfiguration is such a complex subject, one of the most difficult to excel in in my opinion, and that's part of its charm, really. It's such a fulfilling feeling, when you've performed a charm correctly and it's very dangerous also, which just makes it ever more interesting." Miranda could hear the passion in the older girl's voice. "And then, the most complex of all, human transfiguration. You just know that should you only do one tiny mistake like stressing the wrong syllable of the word you might end up handicapped for the rest of the life. But realising that you performed the spell perfectly, that there's no fur currently growing in your face" – Miranda felt a vague sense of déjà-vu overcoming her at that comment – "that's the most exhilarating feeling in the world."

Minerva's face was positively glowing at this stage.

"Human transfiguration", Miranda curiously inquired. "But the only known form of human transfiguration is that of becoming an animagus. So, you're an animagus?" There was a sense of awe in Miranda's voice.

The other girl looked slightly taken aback. "No, I'm not", she protested. Taking in the curious look on the younger girl's face she sighed softly, knowing that Miranda would insist on getting an explanation. "Well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone yet, but I hope I will be one at the end of the year. You see, I've always had a passion for Transfiguration and I wanted to achieve what so little wizards and witches have done before. Becoming an animagus, that's just been my ultimate goal ever since I first heard Professor Dumbledore mention it at the end of first year. So for the last few months I've tried out the different techniques, and I feel that I'm actually getting somewhere. Professor Dumbledore is kind to oversee the whole 'project', as he likes to call it, but he doesn't want for it to become public knowledge, as there would be many more pupils asking him for training them then. The thing is, he's not an animagus himself, so he can't help me all that much anyway and I'm basically doing it all in self-study. I still have a long way to go, but I feel that I'm getting there."

Minerva suddenly stopped, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sorry, I normally never rant like that, it's just, I haven't slept well for the last few days, so I'm feeling a bit tired, and that always makes me talk much more than I usually do." The headgirl took a hasty breath, as she had thrown out the sentences without breathing once. "Just", she looked at the other girl pleadingly, "please don't tell anyone about the whole animagus thing. It's not only because of Professor Dumbledore, I also don't want anyone to know."

"You don't want anyone to know in case you don't succeed?", Miranda guessed correctly. Minerva nodded.

"I know the feeling, I never tell anyone when I'm trying to perform a new spell beforehand, it's just, I don't know, it just puts extra pressure on you when others know about your attempt." Minerva smiled, nodding.

"So, tell me more about that 'project' of yours. What does it feel like, transforming oneself, I've always wondered about that?"

Minerva mustered the girl for a second, as if trying to figure out whether Miranda was really interested or was simply asking out of politeness. But the brown-haired girl was looking nothing but interested and curious, so the headgirl relented, telling the other girl all she wanted to know.

Before either of them noticed, they had arrived in front of the Fat Lady, the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room. The girls were so deep in their conversation that they nearly bypassed it, before Minerva noticed where they were.

"Oh here we are", she exclaimed. "So this is the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. The current password is 'animus'."

At the last word, the portrait had swung open and revealed the bustling common room. Most of the students didn't even take notice of the two girls entering. Those who did respectfully nodded at the headgirl and mustered the new girl curiously.

"Can I have your attention, please", Minerva spoke up, magically enhancing her voice so that it carried through the whole room. "I'd like to introduce Miranda Davies to you. She and her cousin Haumeah just arrived here from France, unfortunately a bit late, thus they weren't able to attend the Welcoming Feast. They have both already been sorted, so that Ravenclaw now has another Fifth Year and we have another Sixth Year." At this she smiled warmly at Miranda. " I do hope you will all help to make Miranda feel as welcome as possible, especially since she has never attended a boarding school before and this will therefore be quite the new experience for her."

There were a few shouts of "welcome" before the majority of the students settled back to whatever they had been doing before they had been interrupted. Meanwhile, Minerva led Miranda over to a couple of girls sitting on a few armchairs.

"These are Eva and Claire, your fellow Sixth Year girls from Gryffindor. You'll also be sharing the dorm with them."

"It's good to get some reinforcements", Claire smiled openly. "It's only been the two of us ever since Third Year, when Kathleen dropped out. Shame really."

"Not like you minded the extra space to stow all your clothes", the blonde girl teased.

"Excuse me, I'm not the one who brought two suitcases this year", the redhead countered.

"Touché, touché", Eva relented. "But anyways, it's nice to meet you", she turned to face Miranda again.

"Thanks", the girl replied. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"I'm sure we'll have a fabulous time together", Claire encouraged. "Unless you absolutely despise fashion and gossip, then we will have to throw you out, I fear." The girl had said the last bit jokingly, giggling at her comment. "You don't, do you?"

"Actually", Miranda replied, but was saved from answering as the headgirl interrupted her.

"I'm afraid I have some more duties to fulfil tonight, so I'll be leaving. Miranda, if you ever need anything, know that my door is always open."

"Thanks", Miranda replied as she waved the headgirl goodbye. Minerva shot her one last encouraging look, before she left through the entrance hole.

"I know Minerva can be a bit stiff at times", Claire said when the headgirl had left. "But we're not all like her, no worries. The rest of us are quite a bit livelier."

Miranda simply nodded in reply, secretly thinking that she thought the headgirl to be much more likeable than the two girls sitting next to her. Not that they were in any way unfriendly, but they just seemed to like to talk about different things.

The new Gryffindor quickly shut out the other girl's idle chatter, just nodding in reply when she was addressed, preferring to scan the common room, taking in her new and yet somewhat familiar surroundings. Had she gone to Hogwarts in the future as well, she wondered. A few times, some other girls walked over and introduced themselves, but mostly people were starting to leave for their dorms. Miranda also noticed that there were far more boys than girls there, and that they usually stayed among one another, not intermingling with the other sex.

"Miranda", Claire's voice brought her out of her reverie. "We just said that we're heading to bed, it's been a long day." At the last pronouncement, Claire yawned loudly as if to underline her statement.

Slowly getting up, Miranda followed the other two girls to her new dorm. As she was bone tired – it really had been a strenuous day – Miranda quickly got ready for bed and not 10 minutes she had already fallen asleep in her bed.

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><p>NA: So, any preferences as to which timeline I should be updating next? 1928 or 1943? I know that especially the 1943 timeline is moving incredibly slowly at the moment, but the pace will pick up in the next few chapters.

As always, reviews make my day and getting your opinion also helps me to figure out what I should improve or change=)


	6. Settling down, 1928

A/N: I've been stuck on this chapter for the last couple of weeks; my muse just went on a holiday without me. I've written and rewritten it, so I hope it hasn't turned into too much of a mess…W

On a different note, this story is finally starting to pick up some pace. So this means that this chapter will mostly contain of summaries, with the occasional flashbacks here and there. But on with the story!

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 – Settling down, 1928<strong>

Cybele was sitting in her living room, slowly inhaling the scent of her favoured tea that was streaming from the cup in her hand.

Four months. It had been four months since she had adopted her little charge. Four months since her whole life whole life had been turned upside down. True, she didn't really remember much of what she had done before those months, but she just knew that her life had been vastly different from what it was now. And at the moment, the thought of not knowing her own past didn't bother Cybele much, she knew the desire to find the root to what had caused her life to change so drastically would win over some time and she would start researching, but she was also sure that this wouldn't be happening for a long time. She didn't know much about her former life, all she remembered were obscure memories of friends, that a large part of her time had been spent devoted to the art of transfiguration and then the vague knowledge that there had been a good reason, a very good reason for her to leave her old life behind, to change her name and to obliviate herself. For that was the only thing about her old life that Cybele was certain about, nobody else had done this to her, she had cast that particular spell on herself.

And sometimes in her dreams she was close to remembering. She had had this dream repeatedly during the last months. She would be standing in a clustered office, and the only thing that was there beside her was one old phoenix. Just as she wanted to reach out to him and pet him, he would burst into flames, but instead of being reborn he was replaced by a tall wizard with a long silver beard, whose blue eyes were twinkling at her kindly. Suddenly the twinkle in his eyes would die, and he was reaching his hand out to her, as he was slowly fading from view.

And then, in rapid order, different young adults would stand in front of her and fade out just as quickly: a blonde, dreamy looking girl, who smiled vaguely at her without seeming to look at her at all. A scrawny, black-haired boy with a peculiar scar on his forehead, who looked solemnly at her and who seemed to be apologizing for something. A girl with bushy brown hair, who would look at her knowingly, her brown eyes boring into her grey ones, as if trying to tell her something. A tall red-head whose playful appearance changed to bitter and serious within seconds. A clumsy blonde boy who tumbled across the chair behind the desk and yet had his wand out in the next second, ready to defend himself from any possible attacker.

The faces and people would start changing faster and faster until it was impossible to make out any individual features. And then, the images would cease. Instead, at the place where all the people had appeared before there would now be a big door. And somehow Cybele just knew that behind the door lay the answers to all her questions. She would always walk over there and put her hand on the handle. And then, every time, she would hesitatingly take her hand away from the handle once more and the door would fade into nothingness as all the people had before it. And seconds later she would wake up and it would take her at least another hour and three cups of black tea to shake of that vague feeling of dread that had taken her over.

Cybele sighed as she took another long sip of her tea. Yes, the dream was somehow haunting her, but she knew, at the moment she really didn't want to know what lay behind that door. And moments like this one, where she had time to just sit down and relax had become quite rare, so she wasn't left with much time to ponder her former life anyway.

The days had passed in a flurry. While Cybele was still often fatigued at the end of the day and while there were still days when she questioned her sanity for wishing to become a mother, she was slowly getting used to her new life, and so was little Tom. Both of them were slowly but surely settling into their new routine of living together.

Their little apartment was also finally developing a more personal feeling to it, as toys, books, paintings and other private items started to cluster it.

While her little charge was by far not as open as she would have liked it, he seemed to be getting used to having someone around him all the time – someone who actually cared that is. He still accepted her goodnight kiss only reluctantly – turning away to face the wall whenever she bent down for the little peck on the cheek – but at least he wasn't outright squirming away from her anymore. It might not be much, but it was a start.

Cybele also found out that while Tom still wasn't talking at all, he was still very adept at expressing his wishes.

* * *

><p><em>FLASHBACK<em>

"Is that all, Madam?", the cashier asked her.

"Yes that would be it for now. I already feel like I'm spoiling the boy too much", Cybele answered, absently petting down on the head of the boy in question. Except that where her hand was supposed to meet hair it met air instead. Cybele looked down. The spot next to her that had been occupied by the boy not twenty seconds ago was now empty. She silently cursed. She really had to get him to stop wandering off whenever he felt like it.

She turned around to see Tom a few metres down the aisle, staring in wonderment at some snow globes displayed on the shelf in front of him.

"Tom", she called out to him. "Tom". But the boy in question didn't react.

Cybele heaved a sigh before walking over to him.

"Come on now, Tom. We've got everything for today." She tugged him on his shoulder, willing him to move with her.

He, however, didn't share her sentiments. Instead, he shrugged her hand off and continued to stare at the snow globes.

She turned back to the snowballs, less because she wanted it and more because she knew that there was no easy way of prying Tom away from his newfound object of interest and she frankly didn't feel up to much arguing at the moment.

"Fine", she murmured and took one of the snow globes down from the shelf. "See this?", she asked him, shaking the globe so that snow started to fall down on the little city displayed in it. Tom's eyes lit up in excitement.

She wasn't sure whether it was because she didn't want to spend any more time arguing with the stubborn boy, or because she found it endearing that a snow globe had been the one thing that had caught his eye above anything else, but she relented to buy it for him.

"Fine, you can have the snow globe", she told the boy. "But only this once."

She made to turn around, the snow globe still in her hand, when Tom tugged at her hand. She looked at him questioningly.

He pointed at the snow globe in her hand and shook his head. Then he turned to point at one of the other snow globes displayed on the shelf.

"You want this one instead?", Cybele asked, picking up the other globe. It showed an idyllic forest scene, with different animals lurking behind trees, running around on the snow-covered ground or climbing on trees. And in the middle of a little clearing there was a little boy, clothed in a warm snowsuit and staring at the world around him in wonderment.

Tom nodded his head vigorously.

"Alright then", Cybele smiled, putting the other snow globe back on the shelf. "Let's get going then."

All the way home, Tom would keep the snow globe clutched tightly in his head, staring at the scene within and occasionally shaking the globe so that new snow would start to fall down.

_END FLASHBACK_

* * *

><p>Cybele found that she had come to care a great deal about her adopted son. And love, she had to experience, often turned one blind to the other's faults. It therefore took her nearly two months to realise that there were some things off about Tom. For example, the whole taking-her-hand thing. She had been so delighted every time he had taken her hand on his own accord – he never let her hold it otherwise – that she failed to make the connection between the circumstances that were always accompanying such events.<p>

* * *

><p><em>FLASHBACK<br>_

They were enjoying their afternoon in a nearby park Cybele had recently discovered. Tom was throwing the bread crumbs they had brought with them at the ducks and ducklings in the water, which eagerly snatched at them, pushing one another in the process. Tom tried his best to spread the bread evenly, so that everyone got their share.

However, one particular small duckling didn't manage to grab any of the crumbs as the others always pushed it out of the way. It didn't take long for Tom to notice that and he narrowed his eyes at one particular vicious duck which was currently harassing the small one. Only a few seconds later, the larger duck started to wildly flap its wings, desperate not to drown, as it seemed to be sucked into the water.

"Oh my", Cybele muttered, glancing at the duck worriedly. "The poor thing. I wonder what's wrong with it."

Tom, meanwhile, showed no concern whatsoever as to what was happening to the duck, which was about to suffocate. He calmly continued to throw the crumbs at the ducks, making sure that the little duckling from before got its share as well.

At the same time as he was finished, the duck finally managed to make its way back to the surface of the water, greedily taking in breaths of air. Out of the corner of her eye, Cybele saw Tom smirking triumphantly at the duck. She turned around swiftly to face him. But no, he was smiling very sweetly at her now, taking her hand as if to tell her that it was time to go home. Cybele shook her head. She was obviously starting to imagine things.

_END FLASHBACK_

* * *

><p>Yes, that realisation had been a particular harsh one, she mused as she took another sip from her cup. But it had been pretty obvious, really. Once she had made the connection, she wondered idly how long it had been staring her in the eye without her noticing. There had been the incident at the lake, the incident with the ice-cream lady, the incidents (yes, unfortunately the plural) at the playground, the incident in the tube. Each of these times something had obviously annoyed Tom. Each time that had been followed by some sort of mishap happening to the person who had been the cause of his discontentment. Each time Tom had grabbed her hand afterwards, something he never did otherwise.<p>

* * *

><p><em>FLASHBACK<em>

It had been a shock for Cybele when she had first discovered the connection and realised what it meant. How to explain to such a young child that what he was doing was obviously wrong. And she had also been shocked by the amount of glee he had obviously felt whenever he had 'gotten his revenge'.

She had sat Tom down and explained to him patiently why it was wrong. She had told him how one was never allowed to hurt another person, had tried to convey the moral principles behind it to him, all the while wondering how it was even possible that a boy of not even two years could already perform magic, and willingly at that. He had looked with her with huge eyes and she thought he had understood. But the next day at the playground, a boy who had accidently brushed against Tom fell down to the ground, grazing his knee. Tom had taken her hand the very next second.

She had been very frustrated then, not knowing how to deal with the situation. Obviously, moral lessons didn't appeal to Tom. That thought frightened her somewhat, but she consoled herself with the thought that he was probably still too young to understand these concepts.

Fortunately, only two weeks later she had found the solution to all her problems. She had been in the kitchen and since it was time to get Tom to bed and she was feeling especially fatigued that night she for once didn't bother to do the dishes by hand, but just charmed the sponge to do the work for her.

Turning around, she saw that Tom had entered the kitchen without her noticing. She couldn't get over the fact that he could move so quietly, weren't children supposed to be clumsy?

"Ready for bed, little man", she asked him. But Tom ignored her, staring at the sponge and dishes in fascination. Then his glance fell on Cybele's wand which she had left lying on the counter. Tom swiftly walked over there and grabbed for it, but his mother was faster than him.

"Careful there", she admonished. "Now, this is mine, not some toy of yours. You'll get one for yourself when you're old enough for it, but for now, you're not allowed to touch it, ok?"

Tom didn't look like he agreed with her and Cybele quietly resolved to hide her wand carefully in the feature. She didn't even want to imagine what kind of havoc Tom would wreck if he ever were to get his hands on her wand.

"Off to bed now", Cybele said, putting the wand away. But Tom didn't follow her out of the kitchen but instead stubbornly refused to move from his position.

Cybele sighed. "Do you want me to show you what I can do with it?"

Tom nodded.

"Alright. But only this one spell. Then you will go to bed, understood."

With that, Cybele waved her wand at a scrap of parchment on the kitchen table, transforming it into a beautiful vase filled with a bouquet of lilies.

She left him to stare at the vase in wonderment for a while, even touching the vase to find out whether it was real. When he accidently threw over the vase in the process and broke it, however, she decided that it was really time now for him to head for bad and she transfigured the broken sherds back to the original parchment.

"Off to bed now, young man", she repeated her sentence from earlier on. Tom, however, still wasn't willing to comply and looked at her pleadingly.

"No, Tom, one is more than enough for tonight. Now be a good boy and go to bed, then I will consider showing you another spell tomorrow."

The next instant, Tom had moved out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. Cybele looked after him perplexed. Then she slowly allowed herself to smile. She had finally found something to motivate her little boy.

In the beginning, she felt a little guilty about using that sort of bribery, but it proved very useful in preventing him from causing harm to anyone or anything. She had made it clear to him, that if he should ever use magic on anyone she wouldn't be showing him any magic for a long time.

Of course, Tom tested her out in the beginning. The next time something happened he had made sure that she hadn't been looking his way, or so he thought, but Cybele had been watching her out of the corner of his eye. When the girl playing next to him toppled over, destroying her recently built sandcastle in the process, Cybele had looked up and raised an eyebrow at Tom, who had been anxiously looking at her.

She had gotten up and without a word he had left the sandpit and walked over to her, taking her hand and they had left the playground together. Once they had gotten home, Cybele had sat Tom down and had admonished him for his actions at the playground. For the first time ever, Tom had actually looked somewhat guilty and Cybele thought that she was finally getting somewhere with him. She had kept true to her threat and not showed him any spells or other performances of magic for the next three days, but since he had behaved immaculate during those days she resolved to show him another spell the day after.

_END FLASHBACK_

* * *

><p>Cybele was enjoying the last sips of her cup. She yawned tiredly, just realising how late it had gotten. The clock had long truck midnight, but she had been too lost in her thoughts to notice.<p>

Yes, the last few months had definitely been very trying, but she felt like she was getting more and more adapt at dealing with her little boy. She had tricked him into using other colours when drawing by simply hiding all the black and grey pencils. She had to smile when she remembered his incredulous look when he had realised that there were no more dark pencils to draw with. And though he had stared at her accusingly, he had relented and started using more friendly colours.

Cybele knew they were still far from becoming the picture-perfect family, yet she felt content that they were getting there, slowly. Just two days ago they had been sitting in the small living room, Cybele reading a book on healing potions while Tom had been drawing. She had not even realised that he had gotten up from his place, when he tapped her on the shoulder to show her his picture.

To say that she had recognised what he had wanted to draw would have been an outright lie, as it looked as messy as any other child's drawing at that age. The only thing she recognized was two different things, one had the predominant colour purple and the other blue. Tom tapped her again, pointed at the picture, then at her and then at himself.

Cybele frowned in confusion for a second before she looked down on herself. She was currently wearing a purple sweater. And Tom's was blue. That meant he had drawn a picture of the two of them.

She had to suppress the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. It was the first time ever that Tom had done something like this and she was deeply touched. Without consideration for his usual reaction to any kind of affection, she leaned down to him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Tom looked at her strangely, as if she had offended him by the simple gesture of affection before stalking off to his bedroom.

Cybele looked at the picture now. She had had it framed and had placed it above the little fireplace in the living room. She knew it was not much, to anyone else the whole picture would just have been a child's scrawly and uninterpretable drawing, but for her it meant much more.

Yes, she knew it was not much, but for the moment, it was enough.


End file.
